Outside
by Mellaithwen
Summary: “He used to swing by Stanford whenever he could to keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe.” Dean never said that he went too. Pre Pilot


**Outside**

**By Mellaithwen**

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**Rating: T (for language)**

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**Genre: Angst**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own it, and the lyrics belong to Staind.**

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**Summary: "He used to swing by Stanford whenever he could to keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe." Dean never said that he went too. Pre-Pilot**

**From Dean's POV.**

**-Edited to remove song lyrics by Staind**

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I wouldn't call myself a stalker, and I sure as hell wouldn't say that to Dad. But you've gotta admit, it is pretty damn shady. I mean this is the third time in two months Dad's casually made sure we drove through Stanford. No doubt your quiet perfect little neighbors think he's trying to steal shit. He's only looking for you though, watching through the window, making sure you're still in one piece and getting taller by the day. I sigh. He gets so worked up, and he's like a frickin' tap, you know? Hot and cold, all the time. And I have no idea how to switch it, or him rather, off.

There's the odd day, when I know he's gonna fall. I know he's crashing and I just have to watch both our backs. It's okay, I don't mind. I'm not the one who left. Not like you Sam, with your lack of loyalty and intelligence. Stupid bastard.

Maybe I'll say something that will set him off, or out of sheer coincidence, there'll be someone with your name, male or female, though I joke when it's of the fairer sex. You always were such a princess, Sammy my boy. Always. Sometimes, like this guy Jerry, he asked about you, remembered Dad had two sons, and just like that Dad was off. All day talking about you, how much you'd achieved, and where you were studying. Everything. And you know what? I wasn't even jealous, it made me smile because Dad sounded so proud of you, and he more than did you justice, believe me.

Ithink the guy was just being polite, I mean, he seemed a little pre-occupied with avoiding sudden death at the hands of one nasty poltergeist residing in his quaint little house, but still made light conversation.

Dad didn't talk that night, kept quiet, didn't say a word, so neither did I.

He's so scared for you Sam, we both are, and you won't even talk to us. Asshole. And it's not like we're not trying, I left seven messages last time I tried to call. _Seven_! You could have at least left me a text! I'm on my own, you'll be happy to know, well, after you blow a gasket about us following you around and spying that is. You never did get on with Dad much, like ever. He was here earlier, when I wasn't. Now it's my turn, I guess, to keep watch over the baby of the family.

I miss teasing you, dude.

Your silhouette is against the wall, and from where I crouch I can see it clearly. Your lanky body is even taller in your shadow. I hate you for that. Damn, freakishly…tall guy! I'm the older brother, why can't I be the tallest? Stupid growth spurts. I can still beat your ass any day. Name the place, Sammy, and I'll knock you out easy as can be. Not that I want to or anything. I'm grinning. You know I've noticed, I always smile when I think about you, sometimes I frown because you're an ass, but most of the time, and always in the end, I'm smiling just 'cause it's _funny_.

I'm stronger than you, always have been, and maybe not just in brute strength either. I remember after your first hunt, you looked terrified, and don't get me wrong, for a first time, you were more than good, granted you missed your shot, but I made sure the pissy ghost got what he deserved.

Never fear, Dean's here!

You were more annoyed at yourself, so I guess it didn't matter when Dad laid into you the importance of aim and precision, but then, when we got back to the motel you were so quiet, until you slept that is. I'm so used to seeing you have nightmares, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and I'm lost. I don't get why I'm in the bed, when I always used to cave in and take the crappy-ass sofa, especially when you got too tall for it. I look over to Dad, and then I remember. You left.

This is your destiny, Sammy, whether you want it or not. She's pretty, the girl you're talking to as you set down your plate full of food. Hot food, that I can practically smell through the walls, and the windows.

God I'm hungry. Damn you, Sammy. Damn you and your food.

I'd give anything, well, maybe not anything, to just jump in there and drag your ass back here. After taking my share of the leftovers that is, and maybe even eyeing up your girl there. That's all I am right, especially to you, some womaniser, a god-damn rebel without a cause.

She can't understand, and you know it. No one can, because as soon as you tell them, they back away, and suddenly, you're not worth it as much as they thought you were. Suddenly, they can do better. And just like that, you're crushed, dumped, kicked to the curb. They can never understand, and you know what, Sam? They shouldn't have to. This is our burden, not theirs, and I know you would never be that selfish. You don't have it in you, no matter how much you want to tell her, and have no secrets, you can't, and you know it.

I wish it wasn't your destiny Sammy. I wish you could live like you want, because you're young and if you try, you can make it. I didn't get the chance, hell I'm not sure I would have taken it if I had. I need dad too much, and I'm not saying you don't, though; it sure looks like you're doing fine. But, I'm the oldest, you know? And it's my responsibility. I'm the one who tidies away the bottles when things get too much, and I always have. I'm the one who tucked you in because no else could, because no one else would, and I'm the one you came to when the nightmares took over.

I always wanted the best for you Sam, I wanted to give you everything that Inever had, I guess that's how most parents feel about their kids, and don't worry, I'm not talking about some seriously twisted secret we've kept from you all these years. Hello no, but that was how I felt. You were my little brother, still are, though not so little, and I took care of you, the way dad should have. And that's why I didn't interfere when you fought dad.

Looking back, I bet you thought I was angry, and for a little while, I guess I was. I didn't say what I thought, and I wasn't being cold, I did it so you wouldn't feel guilty, because dude, you can't deny it's what you do best. Taking guilt that isn't yours to bear. Always.

I kept quiet, cringing at every cuss, which though it wasn't expertly frowned upon in our family was still oh-so-disrespectful when you're all up in the old man's face...

I clenched my fists when dad shouted back, and bit my lip when you wouldn't let it go. When you wouldn't cave in like every other time. And I knew as soon as you stormed up those stairs, pushing past me, and slamming the door shut that that was it. Dad had won, or rather, lost gravely. His experience in dishing out while ranting was far superior to yours, while I myself have quickly caught up, and surpassed his skills. He was better under pressure, and you Sammy, well you weren't.

You didn't see his face that night, Sam, you didn't see his eyes when he poured his drink, or the way his fingers gripped the glass. "What, Dean?" He asked, noticing my staring from the doorway. I looked at him, and for second I wanted to tell him everything. Tell him how much he'd regret what he said, how as the father, and the oldest, he should swallow his pride and apologize, and maybe even take note on Sam's acceptance letter.

But I walked away, just like you, I left, only yours seemed to be a little more permanent then my quick exit to the kitchen.

I took one look at you and your red face, and dad clutching his fists, clearly not amused at having to look up at his youngest son, and I walked away. Like a coward.

You were never a coward, not when it came to Dad, you walked away a lot, especially when you knew it was a losing battle, but you were never a coward, not like me. You stuck up for what you wanted, even if it did make you look and sound like a whiny little shit at the time. You're laughing. I'm glad. Glad that you can laugh while we're out hunting and risking our necks for you and your perfect little friends.

No, Dean, I tell myself, this is not the time to be bitter. But what else can I do, knock on the door? Say 'hey Sammy, remember me? Now how's about you give me some of that wonderful dessert you're serving?'

Jerkface.

Dickwad.

And the ever favoured, asshole.

I miss you, Sam. Really. Dad's cool, you know, it's great to spend some macho-man time together, without little you butting in, and what can I say, it's a lot quieter without me and you bickering.

Who am I kidding? It's not quiet; it's a fucking tumbleweed-deserving agonizing silence! I can't stand it, I don't know what to say, and if I so much as hint to small-talk I get an earful, or worse, the cold shoulder. I swear, Sammy, you sure chose a great time to leave, just when Dad thought he'd be getting two prime hunters on his side, you up and at 'em out of there.

It's like I'm stuck, waiting for you to come back when I know you never will. At least, not for a while. I wonder what it will take, to bring you back into the hunting game. I mean, first you'd have to apologize to dad, 'cause god-knows the guy wouldn't let you so much as touch a shot-gun without it, and second, you'd have to give up this college-boy life you seem to have perfected so well.

You always hated it when I lied to you, and you never hid your distaste for me and dad with our credit card scams that you wouldn't have a part of and you sure as hell wouldn't touch those fake ID's. We made some for you, well, I did. Dad doesn't know, and he doesn't need to since they're stashed in the Impala's dashboard with the rest of them. I found that sheet of passport photo's you'd taken just before you left. You forgot to take them with you, then again, you don't really need them.

Especially since they're stuck to a big ol' card saying you're a cop, or part of the Federal Wildlife Service, I think there might even be a forged driving license too, you know, just in case no one believes that Carl Borgerman really is your name.

Point is, if you hate lying so much, why do you love the apple-pie lifestyle? It's all lies. All of it. Every one of those families behind their white-picket fences are liars, and if they're not, they're just really naïve, which isn't a hell of a lot better, Sam. There's nothing honest about them, because if the couple aren't unfaithful in their spare time, the amount of money they have to their name is questionable, as are their shady pasts and not-so-perfect presents.

Why do you want to live like that? Hunting's honest, though granted, our means of getting food at the end of the day might not be above the law, we certainly earned it with all the evil son's of bitches we kill without anyone knowing. Without Mr. and Mrs. Smith being any the wiser.

You're looking out of the window, and I'm hiding in the bushes. Great, you're still as paranoid as ever and I'm a stalker. Perfect. We sure are going to grow up healthily, at least, you will, I'm already way past my sell by date, and pretty soon, death's gonna come looking for me. Or dad. Or you.

Will you come back to hunt then? When dad picks up the phone and tells you I'm dead? Or will you use it as an excuse to ignore him some more? Will you ever leave them like you did us? Will you ever tell them? No, because you can't. So you're lying, and don't kid yourself Sam, withholding the truth is definitely the same as lying, if not worse.

You can't escape it Sam, so let me know when you're gonna stop trying, yeah? Who knows, we might even enjoy hunting together again, you might even apologize for leaving.

Yeah, that'll be the day, when pigs fly, and I'm taller than you again. Oh well, until next time, Sam, my man, Dad's probably wondering where I am, and it looks a little suspicious if I go out in search of food, and come back over an hour later with nothing to show for it. Then again, there isn't a hell of a lot near, ah just another excuse for me to put the Impala into gear. You've turned out the lights, and I should leave, hell, I will leave. I'll walk away, I'm walking, back to dad and the joys of hunting. Night, dude.

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